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He nodded. “I could take you to Italy,” he said. “A Grand Tour, if you desire it.”

Gwen sucked in a breath, her eyes widening at the prospect of viewing great art. “I do not wish to force you into a union. The kiss was as much my fault as it was yours.”

Lord Abbott’s eyes raked over her face. “There is no force. I … find I … I find that I wish …” He paused, rubbing a hand over his face as he searched for the right words. Gwen was fascinated. It was clear the gentleman was just as affected by this unexpected entanglement as she was. What would he say, once the words came to him? She waited, breath caught in her chest.

“Before this night, I had no desire to marry. But now that we are here together, I wish to do the right thing, and I find that there are no reservations creeping in the corners of my mind. This is what I wish to do. It would be an honor to make you my wife.”

Lord Abbott’s gaze found hers with the final declaration, and Gwen saw nothing but sincerity in the depths of his rich brown eyes. Compelled to speak, she parted her lips to voice the only thought that had pushed all others away, leaving behind a single, dazzling hope for the future.

“If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces⁠—”

His gaze did not falter, even for a moment. His deep voice answered hers with perfect confidence.

“‘The age to come would say “This poet lies; Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.”’”

Gwen shook her head slowly, utterly fascinated by his voice. By him.

She imagined marrying this man, discovering the intricacies of his nature, being cherished by him. She imagined babes with chocolate thatches of fine hair and bright brown eyes and books shared across armchairs, poetry whispered beneath covers, and fires crackling warm on Christmas Eve. She imagined moonlight and kisses, soft touches and sighs, strong hands and delighted shivers.

Gwen remembered the unwavering love shared between her father and mother, the joy that had filled their home upon Gareth’s birth, and the quiet hopes she had buried deep within her own heart. And in that still moment, she knew she wanted to say yes.

“Are you certain?” she asked softly.

Lord Abbott’s lips curved into a crooked, utterly disarming smile. “I am.”

Gwen’s thoughts churned with astonishing speed. The choice before her was stark. The certainty of social ruin … or the unknown of a future with this man.

She had not met Lord Moreland personally, but his reputation preceded him. The Abbotts were considered an honorable family. Loyal, charitable, and admirably prudent with their considerable wealth. Lord Abbott’s name had never been tainted with scandal, at least not to her knowledge. The only recent whispers involved his sister, who had evidently made a love match under somewhat hurried circumstances.

“I like to read,” she said abruptly, testing him.

“So do I.”

“You would not mind if I continued my studies?”

His grin widened. “I would encourage it. We shall debate the philosophers and quarrel over which of them proves most persuasive.”

She paused. “And this … this would be a real marriage? Not merely a matter of propriety?”

His gaze dropped to her lips, which she licked nervously. A hint of amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth before he replied, voice low and warm. “It shall be a real marriage. Of that, you may be very certain.”

Color bloomed across her cheeks. She glanced away, only to find herself inadvertently staring at the broad chest she had crushed herself against not long ago. The very one she had longed to touch with reckless hands beneath the cloak of moonlight.

And to her horror, her own hand rose now, as though independent of her mind, to trace the firm line of his wool coat. Beneath her fingertips, she could feel the rapid thrum of his heart matched only by the wild rhythm of her own.

Some part of her remembered that she had planned to remain steadfast. To convince her father and this gallant stranger that the notion of marriage was preposterous.

But another part, perhaps the truest part, was still the girl who had dreamed of love. Of finding a kindred spirit. Of building a life with someone who would value her mind as much as her heart.

Of curling into strong arms and whispering hopes into the night.

Of stepping boldly into a future her mother would have approved of.

She exhaled, long and slow. And gave her answer.

“Then we shall see where this path might lead.”

Even as Lord Abbott’s face lit up and he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her lips, Gwen’s brow furrowed slightly.

A thought had surfaced, unbidden and troubling.

She did not recall his name on the guest list.

How had he come to be here this evening?